Peter Johnson and The Olympians
by StarryLuv
Summary: Parody not to be taken seriously. Peter Johnson has a tough life, between strange teachers, and a drunk friend he can't catch a break! Join Peter on his life journey. Possible one shot, might become longer. Rated T for minor swears and rude themes.


Meet Peter Johnson. This is his story. And a horrible Parody done by the one ane only, StarryLuv, Queen of uncomplete Fic's!

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><p>Look, I didn't want to be a Stripper.<p>

If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now.

Hahaha, im only kidding. But I found out recently, I was a halfblood.

Being a half-blood is Stupid. All we do is fight. Fight, fight, fight. Then we eat. Then we fight.

If you're a weird lonely kid, reading this because you have nothing else to read because all the stories you have favorite's and Alerts on didn't update, great. Read on. I envy you for being able to-Actually I don't.

Because I am Peter Freakin' Johnson. Well minus the Freakin' part, and add a middle name that will never be mentioned throughout the rest of my life..

I'm twelve years old, but we all lie on things that require you to be "13 and up". You know you do. Well anyway, back to me you little selfish! I go to this stupid school, called Vancy. It's for 'special' people like me! You jeleous? Oh well.

Am I a special kid?

Hell yeah! My mommy tells me so every day!

I could start at any point in my short awesome, better than yours, life to prove it, but things really started going funny last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan— twenty-eight "Special" kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

I know—it sounds stupid. Be honest who cares about that junk? The important thing, is they are dead and I am not!

Well, most of out trips sucked anyway.

But Mr. Junner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had no change in oppinion anyway.

Mr. Junner was this ugly ass guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had a almost bald head a horrible beard, and a nasty vest that he wore everyday which always smelled like crap. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, and your right. He really wasn't. The only good part was he was usually stoned during class, so we woudn't have to hear his mouth.

I hoped the trip be fast. Maybe I can try paying attention.

Ha, as if.

See, bad things happen to me on field trips. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, I had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. I wasn't aiming for the fat guy with a big mac. But I got kicked out anyway.

And before that, at my fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I 'accidentally' the wrong lever on the catwalk and our class took an unplanned swim. I didn't get expelled though, I wish I did. I actually was trying to kill them.

This trip, I was determined to be allright.

All the way into the city, I put up with Stacy Bobbyfat, the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, hitting my best friend George in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich. Extra calories, she definently didn't need.

George was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades, because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was constantly drunk.

He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he was always wasted. He walked funny, like his legs were jello, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when the package store was open.

Anyway, Stacy was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already on probation. The headmaster had threatened me with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.

"I'm going to Snuff her," I mumbled.

George tried to calm me down. But he was so wasted all I heard was "I-Appppthhh a gooblaa" .

He dodged another piece of Stacy's lunch.

"That's it." I started to get up, but George threw up on my shoes. Our little sighn for "No! Don't!"

"Probaayshunn," he reminded me. "Yurr gets blaymmed"

Looking back on it, I wish I'd Snuffed fat ol' Stacy Bobbyfat right then and there.

In-school suspension would've been nothing compared to the mess I was about to get myself into.

Mr. Junner led the museum tour.

He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.

I accidentally tripped over one of the thingys and knocked one over.

"AH DAMMIT YOU STUPID MOTHER F-" I starte but was cut off with the 'evil eye' from .

Mrs. Modds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year, when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown. From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Stacy and figured I was devil spawn. She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, AssMunch," real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month.

One time, after she'd made pick things off the ground until midnight, I told George I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "Yeepp"

Mr. Junner kept talking about Greek funeral art.

Finally, Stacy was drooling over the naked guy on the stele, and I turned around and said, "Will you _shut your mouth_?"

It came out as loud as intended.

The whole group laughed. Mr. Junner stopped his story.

"Mr. Johnson," he said, "did you have a comment?"

I was not embarassed at all. I looked him dead in the eyes, "Don't hate me cuz im beautiful."

Mr. Junner rolled his eyes and pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?

I looked at the stupid thing. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"

"Yes," Mr. Brunner said, obviously not satisfied. "And he _did _this because ..."

"He was out of Chicken and-"

"Chicken?" Mr. Brunner asked.

"Beef" I corrected myself. "And ... he didn't wanna run to walmart. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead.

And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters—"

"Eeew!" said one of the girls behind me.

"—and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans," I continued, "and the gods won."

Some snickers from the group.

Behind me, Stacy mumbled to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos couldn't get off his fat ass and go to the store?'"

"And why, Mr. Johnson," Brunner said, "to paraphrase Miss BobbyFat's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"BuuhhSteeed" George giggled.

"Shut up," Stacy hissed, her face even brighter red than her hair.

At least Stacy got caught, too. Mr. Junner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything perverted. He had ninja ears.

I pretended to think about his question, and shrugged. "I don't freakin know, sir."

"I see." Mr. Junner looked disappointed. "Well, half credit, Mr. Johnson. Im not gonna ramble about junk nobody bothers to read because they know the story, so take us outside."

The class drifted off, to eat lunch!

George and I were about to follow when Mr. Junner said, "Mr. Jhonson."

I knew that was coming.

I told George to keep going. On his was out he tripped down the stairs, it's alright. I'll get him in a minute. Then I turned toward Mr. Junner. "What the hell you want my dude?"

"You must learn the answer to my question," Mr. junner told me.

"About baby's?"

"NO YOU MORON. Get the hell out of here. Just go. I need my weed. Hey that rhymes. So yeah, get

the hell out. But act like I gave you a totally inspiring speech.

"Oh. Again?"

He told me to go outside and eat my lunch.

The class gathered on the front steps of the museum, where we could watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue. I pulled George off the ground where he had started eating some mutant New York

city stuff than managed to fall on the stairs.

Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figured maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York State had been weird since Christmas.

We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in. Not that I'd care or anything.

Nobody else seemed to Care. Some of the guys were chasing pigeons, Stacy was tricking tourists out

of money.

George and I sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, everybody wouldn't know we were from _that _school—the school for epic fails that couldn't make it anywhere else but a future at Mcdonalds.

"Duhtenshun?" George asked.

"Nah," I said. "Not from Junner. I just wish he'd hop off for god's sake."

George didn't say anything for a while. Then, when I thought he was going to give me some deep philosophical comment to make me feel better, he said, "Aahpuull?" I didn't have much of an appetite, so I let gave it to him.

I watched the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and thought about my mom's apartment,

and I wondered if she had another 'special friend' over. All my mommys boyfriends are really nice! They stay one time, but they give my mommy money and are really nice.

Mr. Junner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate Weed brownies while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized cafe table.

I was about to unwrap my sandwich when Stacy appeared in front of me with her ugly friends—I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists—and lashed out her hand to smack me.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH! RAPE!" I screamed.

I don't remember touching her, but the next thing I knew, Stacy was sitting on her butt in the fountain, screaming, "Peter pushed me!"

Mrs. Modds materialized next to us.

Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see—"

"—the water—"

"—like it grabbed her—"

I didn't know what they were talking about. All I knew was that I was in trouble again.

As soon as Mrs. Modds was sure poor little Stacy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum gift shop, etc., etc., Mrs. Modds turned on me. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes, as if I'd done something she'd been waiting for all semester. "Now, Ugly—"

"I know," I grumbled. "A month in your basement."

That wasn't the right thing to say.

"First of all that was one time. Now come with me," Mrs. Dodds said.

"Wait!" George yelped. "It was me. _I _pushed her."

I stared at him, stunned. I couldn't believe he was speaking normal. Did that mean he was...Sober? I didn't believe what I was seeing.

She glared at him so hard his cup of whisky trembled.

"I don't think so, Mr. Abovewood," she said.

"But—"

"You—_will_—stay—here."

Grover looked over at me and shrugged, "Oh well. Good, his presence was messin' up my 'fro anyway." He said taking a swig out his bottle.

"It's okay, man," I told him. "I'll buy you some Gel later."

"Ugly," Mrs. Modds barked at me. "_Now_."

Stacy smirked.

I gave her my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare.

Then I turned to face Mrs. Modds, but she wasn't there. She was standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

How'd she get there so fast?

Must of been that crack I saw her with earlier.

I wasn't so sure.

I went after Mrs. Modds.

Halfway up the steps, I glanced back at George. He was playing poker with Mr. Junner, he saw me looking and chucked up the peace sighn.

I looked back up. Mrs. Modds had disappeared again. She was now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.

Okay, I thought. She's going to make me buy a new shirt for Stacy at the gift shop.

But apparently that wasn't the plan.

I followed her deeper into the museum. When I finally caught up to her, we were back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery was empty.

Mrs. Modds stood with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She was making this weird noise in her throat, like coughing with her mouth closed.

Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Modds.

"You've been giving us problems, Ugly." she said.

I didn't care, "Do I look like I care?" I shrugged.

She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"

I had no clue what she was talking about, but I felt defiant. "Damn straight. And I did! Reminde me what I got away with?" I asked.

"We are not fools, Peter Johnson," Mrs. Modds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."

All I could think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of drugs I'd been selling out of my dorm room.

Naaa. That can't be it, she's my best buyer.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Well?" I asked her.

"Your time is up," she hissed.

Then the weirdest thing happened. Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She wasn't human. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.

Then things got even stranger.

Mr. Junner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheeled his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pencil in his hand.

"Get that ho, Peter!" he shouted, and tossed the pencil through the air.

Mrs. Modds lunged at me.

With a yelp, I dodged and felt talons slash the air next to my ear. I snatched the pencil out of the air, but when it hit my hand, it wasn't a pencil anymore. It was a Gun—Mr. Brunner's bronze gun, which he always used on tournament day.

Mrs. Modds spun toward me with a murderous look in her eyes.

She snarled, "Die, honey!"

And she flew straight at me.

I did the only thing that came naturally: I shot the gun.

For an awkward moment, we both stared at eachother. "Psssht! Your supposed to explode.." Mr. Junner stage whispered. "Oh. Oh yeah!" and with a "Boom" she was gone.

I was alone.

There was a pencil in my hand

Mr. Junner wasn't there. Nobody was there but me.

My hands were still trembling. My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or something.

Had I imagined the whole thing?

Or should I check myself into the nut house?

I went back outside.

It had started to rain.

George was sitting by the fountain, sippin' on his drink. Stacy was still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she saw me, she said, "I hope Mrs. Derr whipped your butt."

I said, "Who?"

"Our _teacher._ Duh!"

I blinked. We had no teacher named Mrs. Derr. I asked Stacy what she was talking about.

She just rolled her eyes and turned away.

I asked George where Mrs. Modds was.

Unfortunetly Sober George was gone, so a bunch of babbling was all I got.

I saw Mr. Junner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book, as if he'd never moved.

I went over to him.

He looked up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pencil. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Johnson."

I handed Mr. Brunner his pencil. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it.

"Sir," I said, "where the hell is Mrs. Modds?"

He stared at me blankly. "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mrs. Modds. The pre-algebra teacher? Stop smokin' that stuff sir."

He frowned and sat forward, looking mildly concerned. "Peter, there is no Mrs. Modds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at this school. Are you feeling all right?"

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><p>Yeah. I was bored and this is what happened. I don't care if you want to flame, because I had fun writing this for some unknown reason. Matter of fact, flames are welcome! I use them to boil my "I don't give a F" soup! This is a oneshot, and there won't be any more...Unless you want it...Well click the blue button and tell me what you think<p> 


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